I turned it over in my palm. “What’s it mean?”
He pointed at the skull. “We wear it on our jackets. It means brotherhood.” He pointed at the wheel. “It means freedom.”
I liked the way it felt. I tucked it into my dress, close to my skin.
He leaned forward, eyes shining in the firelight. “If you could go anywhere—any time—what would you want?”
I thought for a while. “Somewhere there’s no hunger. No one telling us who to be, or what to believe.” I looked at him. “Somewhere you’re not running from the grave.”
He touched my cheek, just once. “I’ll find it for you.”
The words burned, sweet and sharp. “You’re a liar, Sully O’Toole.”
He laughed, and this time it was true.
We sat close and warm, until the fire went to coals and the world outside thawed from black to blue. I dozed with my head on his shoulder, woke when the wind rattled the window.
He shifted, careful not to wake me, but I caught his hand before he could move away. “Are you leaving?”
He shook his head. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He looked at me, all the way through, like he could see the thoughts before I spoke them. “About how this is the only time I ever felt alive.”
I snorted. “You’re not exactly alive now, are you?”
He smiled. “I’m alive enough.”
He reached for something in his boot—an old habit, from before. Instead, he pulled out a length of leather cord. He looped it, knotted it, then knelt in front of me, slow and careful so as not to open the wound.
He took my left hand and tied the cord around my finger, tight enough to leave a mark.
“A ring,” he said, voice thick. “So you remember.”
I stared at the cord, then at him. “I’d remember anyway.”
He gripped my hand in both of his, eyes swimming. “I crossed time itself to find you, Catherine Dunn. I’ll cross it a hundred times more, if that’s what it takes.”
My vision blurred. I wanted to tell him it was impossible, that the world would swallow us whole. Instead, I just nodded, once. He leaned in and kissed my palm, right at the base of the ring finger. His lips were dry, but it was the warmest thing I’d ever felt. I held the hand up, admired the crude knot, the way it fit me and no other. He sat back on his heels, breathing heavy, waiting.
I said, “You’re a fool,” but I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Do you want to see the dawn?” he asked.
I nodded. We opened the door together, stepped into the cold, and watched the sky go from steel to gold. In that moment, Iwasn’t afraid. Not of the soldiers, not of the priest, not of the world ahead. He was real, and he was mine, and I’d cross time for him, too.
A sound cracked the calm. Hooves on wet stone, pounding hard and fast. I grabbed Sully’s wrist out of reflex, but he’d already gone still, a predator scenting trouble.
“Maeve and Nora?” he asked, but his voice said he knew it wasn’t.
I shook my head. “Too soon. They’d be on foot from the mill.”
The hooves drew closer. Not a troop, not a cavalry charge. One horse, frantic, tearing up the lane. A black shape rounded the bend and skidded to a halt at our gate. The rider nearly slid off the saddle—long brown cloak flapping, hair wild. I recognized him, even through the mess. Father Declan O’Shea.
He half-fell, half-dismounted, clutching his left thigh. His face was a paste of sweat and dirt, eyes wild, jaw clenched against pain. When he saw us, he staggered forward, boots dragging furrows in the mud.
“Please,” he gasped. He made it three steps before his leg buckled and he slammed into the ground, cloak pooling around him like a collapsed tent.